


the poem that i make of you

by Blepbean



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, First Kiss, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M, Mutual Pining, Y E A R N I N G, brief talks about race and sexuality, dex didnt have a good childhood, idiots to lovers, idk how to tag tbh, it's like very vague, kinda edited this one, p o e t r y, these boys are so soft for each other... i love them, yes there's a red white and royal blue references in here leave me alone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:00:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27225412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blepbean/pseuds/Blepbean
Summary: After Nursey and Dex finally settle on not being complete assholes to each other, they have a routine that casually tells bits and pieces of each other's life. Dex being born into rags and dirt. Nursey loving too much. Within the silences, they slowly realise that they could have more than just friendships and tackling each other.i’ve tried to read you like some kind of poem, breezing through the stanzas of the words. but I realise that I’ve mistaken you. within the crevices of your hills, the rocks shifting, the harshness of your edges there’s places where the centre of you reaches out.. you hold so much love within yourself after all of those years that it has crystallized, now it’s beginning to shift. it pleads of affection, of tender touches and early morning cuddles. so come, let me take it from you. and i’ll share mine too. let me share my stories, my hidden depths, the way that i can write poetry by how your eyes turn into liquid gold when the sun pours over your eyes.Give yourself away sometimes, sweetheart. There’s so much of you.inspired by All Hail The Underdogs
Relationships: Derek "Nursey" Nurse/William "Dex" Poindexter
Comments: 2
Kudos: 37





	the poem that i make of you

**Author's Note:**

> i love them so much <333 i miss nurseydex IT PAINS 
> 
> kudos, comments and feedback is appreciated

After hours on and off the ice, and perhaps a year or two of their sour rivalry turning into an undeniable chemistry, the two of them begin to flow like waves against the beach. They know each other’s depths and boundaries, knowing whenever they begin to fall into a pit. They know whenever a shift changes, that no one else can tell but them.

Like how Dex gets sick, and Nursey tells him to chill, followed by shouting and then laughter and then Nursey ordering warm soups for Dex.

Or how Nursey helps him with his essays. And Dex finds himself staring, eyes looking at how Nursey works while he hums.

Or how they always seem to  _ click  _ in the ice. With Dex already a step forward, matching Nursey’s steps like they know each other’s moves without speaking another word. They know each other’s bodies like this. Nursey’s laid back attitude is like water clashing against the cliff side of Dex’s tough body, moving with ease, fast, like a hurling bolder.

And the water—

It slowly chips and chips away at Dex. Like how they sometimes find themselves staying well up into the night, Dex and Nursey sitting on the floor, legs crossed. They look at each other. Nursey’s eyes turning into a dark grey, a stark contrast against the liquid gold that is Dex’s eyes, like he holds a thousands suns, using all of the fury and the heat to tell people to stay away. 

Within the moonlight, Dex notices how Nursey’s skin lights up in the moonlight, his skin turning into a cool tone of brown. Like how Nursey is built from the soft, soils of the forests, just like how he is water. He is moving. Free. Shifting to whatever he needs to. Nursey is something that Dex can’t describe, he can’t read or analyse like the poems that Dex writes, complete analogies and complex adjectives.

But Dex does get this. That Nursey holds the very riches underground, rare, precious. Dex thinks, as Nursey reaches out to hold his hand for comfort, grounding him, water turning into ice, the soil turning to hard dirt to support the roots of the forests. Dex thinks that Nursey is the most beautiful thing he has ever set upon; he should be kept away from Nursey before he cascades into a pillar of flames. Like the melted gold lighting up a vast forest/

“I’m sorry,” Nursey mumbles, “I didn’t know. If you ever need money financially I can—“

“—it’s fine now, Nurse,” he says, trying not to recount shivering nights as he curls himself, trying to draw heat by rubbing his hands, “I have a job now.”

They settle into a silence. Bordering between awkward and comfortable. Two sides of the coin.

“Thank you,” he says, his tone soft, sweet like honey, the opposite of the musky cologne that he wears, earthy and hard, “for telling me.”

“It’s not a big deal, Nursey.”

He gets a soft laugh from him.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Dex catches glimpses of the poetry that Dex writes. This time it’s in the library, on the screen Dex sees a chuck of what he’s writing. It says:

_ And would you let me touch you? I would be gentle, let my fingers graze over your cheeks, littered with freckles, something akin to topaz. I would touch you with such tender and softness even though you are a whole mountain, harsh and with ragged edges. You’re a whole cliff side that could swallow me whole, but I’ll give you my gentle touches, because sometimes colossal beings need softness from the shape of water _

When Dex looks back to his coding program, he thinks that it’s the most beautiful thing he's ever read. It feels like a privilege, to see a stretch of words laid out so perfectly.

  
  
  
  
  
  


This is a routine, a little bit anyway. They trade little pieces of each other's life, only happening during the night when the darkness can swallow up any guilt or shame. Sometimes Dex just says two sentences on his bed. Other times Nursey sits at the window and rambles a whole slew of words, always tumbling over. Dex always found it funny how Nursey is a poet, that he should be good at words.

He isn’t.

He’s good at writing them.

But not speaking.

So he lets Dex talk, his words filling up the air even though Dex works with numbers on the screen and programs. Nursey works with paper and a pencil, sharpening the lead from time to time to let his mind rest for about three seconds. So why is Dex? The rough edged boy that he knows feels so  _ safe  _ around him that he lets the words spill between them like breathing?

“When I was younger,” Dex mumbles, “I always really wanted these ice hockey gear in high school. So I worked my  _ ass  _ off day in and night at this diner place,” he laughs, with a tinge of bittersweet between his giddiness, like he’s looking back on his memories, knowing that he can’t ever relive it again, “so this boy that keeps coming in, I’ve seen him around the school, plays in the basketball team. That’s when I had the realisation that I wasn’t straight.”

Nursey lights up like a thousand suns and moon colliding. Hope fills up within his core, and he thinks far off into the future. He could be all giddy, the both of them a little drunk but that’s fine as Nursey drags Dex by the belt loop. They almost knock over a lamp while making their way into the bedroom, drunk breaths hot against skin. Nursey thinks:  _ I love him so much that it hurts _ .

And he would accidentally speak it into words.

And Dex would giggle at him. Eyes bearing into him like the sun setting behind a cliffside.

“I don’t… really label myself,” Dex starts up again, “if I like you then I like you. I guess that means I’m pansexual but I don’t like labels… I guess.”

“Dude… that’s cool,” Nursey says.

He gets a soft laugh from him.

“I never really said that to anyone before,” Dex says.

“Does it feel good? To say it?” Nursey says. He wonders what Dex looks like in bed right now, maybe his hands clasped behind his head. His hair would be messy, a week due for a haircut. If Nursey was right beside him, he would let his hand wander. Reach out. Skin to skin. Like water crashing into the cliff side.

It takes half a minute for Dex to say: “Yeah… how did you find out that you weren’t… straight, Nursey? I know you don’t label yourself so…”

He’s open about himself. Because that's who he is. Derek Nursey. The  _ chill  _ dude that didn’t come out to Shitty first but to everyone just by saying that he has a hookup and when Jack asks who he says that it’s with the cute biology boy

Bitty screams, “another one! I found another one, we queers travel in packs. I knew it!”

But before that. He had to carefully build himself up from the ground. Because he lives in a world where he sometimes gets dirty looks from others, not knowing whether it’s because he’s holding his boyfriend's hands in the street when he was in high school (they lasted a month before Nursey watched him move halfway across the country, the texts turned weekly things then into nothingness) or because his skin was darker than the rest of other people.

Because he’s a minority within a minority. It’s a  _ terrifying  _ thing to exist. Two worlds clashing together and suddenly he has a target on his back.

It’s fine now. He’s fine now. Nursey thinks. He has a routine when he gets pulled over by cops and he has a full speech to shut down people. It’s fine now. But he’s  _ tired _ of existing.

“I think I just knew it,” he mumbles, words a little bit shaky, “I lived in a progressive area and I was introduced to labels from sexuality to different genders. So I kinda just… knew. I guess. From this girl I had a crush on when I was ten, but then she said cheesecakes sucked so I stopped liking her. But then there was this boy that I had a crush on after five minutes and defended cheesecakes but then after that he said he likes soccer better than hockey I stopped liking him,” Nursey laughs again, “I had a lot of crushes after that, I guess I had too much love to give. But I met this person at my lgbt club in high school, they were just a normal teenager like me who was teaching the historical evidence of non-binary people but… they weren’t like anyone else.”

“How?”

Nursey can’t describe it. Maybe it’s how they kind of resemble Dex. Ragged at the edge and a little rough, with freckles a bit darker than Dex’s but it littered their cheeks like god took time on making them, molding them. They had ginger hair as well, and when they walked into the sunshine their hair turned into something that’s liquid bronze.

Nursey didn’t do anything about it. Too terrified, he thinks. They were someone at another level, something that Nursey couldn’t touch. Like he is to the sun.

And it’s like the universe is giving him another chance. Another life. Saying,  _ don’t mess this up, one last chance _ .

“I don’t know,” Nursey breathes out.

He sleeps an hour after Dex does.

  
  
  
  
  


Dex sees Nursey writing on his notepad in the living room. Pencil moving slowly against the rough paper. He can make out Nursey’s hands, how it’s smooth, soft, untouched by labour or from changing the oven in the kitchen, or laborious labour from working in a boat just to afford hockey gear.

And within the words, Dex makes out a paragraph:

_ there’s the corner of your mouth that curls when you smile. ive seen it. many times. when i come up behind you and see it. it’s a part of u that you can’t hide away like the rest of yourself. it’s not like the harshness that comes from you. or the scowls when you miss a goal. but through your roughness i see it, that corner of your mouth. i think i would die trying to ever get close to it. but ill send my waters to you to try to slowly chip away from you. _

Something shifts in Dex’s chest, he almost cries.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Nursey listens to Sufjan Stevens a lot. Especially Carrie and Lowell. He listens to it many times while trying to write his polished poetry piece, letting the nostalgic familiarity come in waves as he types in his bed. Sometimes he gets out of the Haus and walks around, maybe 

on the campus to get a fresh breath of air to clear his head.

The wind picks up.

He hears a voice.

“Dex! You forgot your beanie in  _ our _ room.”   
  


Nursey turns around. He sees Dex in front of him, panting, catching his breath while the autumn sun sees a view of his freckles cheeks, like gold is imprinted onto his cheeks. His hair is freshly shaved, where Nursey sometimes helps to shave every month in the bathroom.

“I don’t need it.”

“It’s… it’s too cold. And uh… hang on just give me a moment to catch my breath. Wait a minute. J-just give me a second to catch my breath.”

Nursey takes out a bud from his earphones. Dex huffs and huffs.

“Dex I don’t need my beanie I’ll be fine—”

“—you know, when I was younger. My mum always worried about us getting sick, because we didn’t have enough money to get medicine.”

Dex pauses. Nursey realises that Dex is spilling his guts out in the open, broad daylight. No moonlight to soften the sobs, or the regret forever spilling words out into the open. And when they wake up they could blame it on being restless, not being able to sleep. And they could just pretend that they didn’t talk about it.

“So we always—give me a second I’m still breathless, I hate you so much—” Nursey chuckles at him, “so we always wear beanies. Even in the summer. Because we couldn’t bear to get sick. So just  _ please _ , wear your beanie. I don’t… I don’t want you to get sick. And I don’t want to deal with you being sick.”   
  


A beat passes.

Then another.

“We live in like two completely different worlds,” Nursey says, staring at the blue beanie in Dex’s hands.

“Yeah,” Dex replies, “so take your fucking beanie.”

“You can keep it, you know.”   
  


“I already have one.”

“It’s tattered.”

Silence, again.

“Nursey just… take your beanie. I’ll feel better if you take it.”

And Nursey does, their hands touch for the briefest of moments and it’s like lightning struck the ground.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Dex catches a glimpse of him writing poetry, a general sight to see Nurse writing poetry. He’s on the beanbag, and Dex is at the door. He catches a glimpse of his screen, all in italics, a slew of messy words out on the screen. It says:

_ A mistake. Like putting the wrong words in a paragraph. Yet, it works. It fits, taking up space. It’s ragged and harsh but it works against the softness of the other sentences, a pile of adjectives describing the flush greens of forests. But you’re there, and I’m the right pair of hands that could tend to your colossal size. You’re a happy accident. The wrong size of shoes that somehow fits. _

And Dex thinks, how he could be stupid?

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“Nursey?”

“Hang on just give me a second I’m writing,” his eyes are focused on the screen, cutting out a couple of words to make it more coherent. 

“Nurse!”

“Dex if you could just give me a second—”   
  
He’s cut off by Dex taking the laptop off him.

Then him straddling onto his lap then he feels his lips against him.

The thing is, he’s spent a couple of poems, of late night thoughts wondering what Dex’s lips would feel like, what would it taste of. Would it feel chapped? Would it feel rough and fast? Would it resemble an earthquake, of boulders sliding off the mountains. Fast. Harsh. Quickly moving.

And it’s neither of those things. His lips are soft, and he moves his lips like he’s tasting a fruit that has just ripened, needy,  _ hungry _ . William Pointerdexter tastes of sweetness that comes from honey, of raspberries from Bitty’s leftover pies. And under all of that, there’s the lingering touch of mint from Dex’s toothpaste.

He also smells of something akin to oil, from the job that Dex picked up between school and hockey. It suits him. And he finds himself grinning into the kiss and to let him in more, his hands under Dex’s clothes, against his chest, knowing where the biggest freckles are. Here, under his rib. There, three inches under his armpit. Over here, above his ribs.

When they pull apart, Dex looks at him with shame that fills the room.

“I’m sorry I shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have kissed you I—”

“—no… I liked it.”

Dex grows flush.

“Your ears are pink.”

“I hate you  _ so much _ .”

  
Nursey buries himself into the crook of Dex’s chest, they fit together like long lost puzzles. Waiting and waiting, the other just a bit ragged and the edges are torn but they work. Nursey notices that Dex tenses a little bit, not used to this physical touch, this affection. So he lets his hand graze over Dex’s knuckles, running over the ridges, the bones, the veins as well.

“How long have you liked me?” Nursey hums, it sounds loud within the quiet.

“Since the start.”

“More specific.”

“Freshman year.”

  
More silences.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Dex shifts, “because I’m  _ not  _ like you. I’m not someone who just openly puts out his feelings, dude. I’m not... you. But I  _ want  _ to be like you. I—”

Dex stops, and Nursey realises he’s sobbing. His head under Nursey’s chin. The sobs sound  _ painful, _ collecting up years upon years and years of being locked inside to rot and foster, like a tumor being taken out. Nursey lets himself get guided by his hands, rubbing soft, soothing circles on his back like how his mum did when the boy in his science class at high school didn’t like him back.

And when Dex starts to shake. Really shake. Like the earthquake is bringing mountains to their knees.

“You gotta breathe,” Nursey whispers, kissing his temple.

And Dex tries.

He really does.

And he succeeds a little. Taking a shaky, shallow breath. He does this little by little. The soothing motions from Nursey helps little by little. It softens the earthquakes that reside within him.

  
  
  
  
  
  


When Dex wakes up all gross and sweaty, he realises that they’re in his bed. With his own ear pressed against Nursey’s chest, he can hear a soft, faint heartbeat. But in Dex’s hands there is a notebook. He takes it, words messy and some misspelled. It says:

_ i’ve tried to read you like some kind of poem, breezing through the stanzas of the words. but I realise that I’ve mistaken you. within the crevices of your hills, the rocks shifting, the harshness of your edges there’s places where the centre of you reaches out.. you hold so much love within yourself after all of those years that it has crystallized, now it’s beginning to shift. it pleads of affection, of tender touches and early morning cuddles. so come, let me take it from you. and i’ll share mine too. let me share my stories, my hidden depths, the way that i can write poetry by how your eyes turn into liquid gold when the sun pours over your eyes. _

_ Give yourself away sometimes, sweetheart. There’s so much of you. _

He smiles

  
  
  
  


They wake up much later in the afternoon, and Dex realises he’s on his own bed, with Nursey on top of him. 

“Hon, you’re really heavy can you get off?”

He gets a grumble from Nursey, “you’re really warm.”

“I know.”

“Nursey you’re crushing me.”

Nursey responds by digging himself deeper into the crook of his shoulder, burying himself there, hoping that they can stay entangled together for just a little bit more longer. Stretch the minute into a five.

“ _ Babe _ .”

“Oh so we’re doing names now, Dex?”

“Shut up.”

He gets a laugh. 

Dex manages to sit up, back against the cold wall. Within the greenery of the room that comes from Dex bringing into the room, hoping that the colour from the various plants gives Nursey more words and inspiration for his poems. The afternoon sunlight filters through the blinds, making lines against Nursey’s back. Lines of soft, brown skin, rich like soil that forests grow on, steady and supporting turns into a colour of sepia from the skin kissed by sunlight, it almost looks like it’s glowing.

That’s when it strikes him.

This is Dex’s first kiss.

Dex’s first cuddle.

And he never thought he would get more than  _ this _ . That he would have someone pressed close to him, skin to skin, heat to heat. All of his crushes turn into anguish, late night moments wondering if someone will ever look at him like he holds the entire world. He has so much love to give, he thought it was gone by the time he stepped into Samwell.

But it isn’t.

And it flows and flows like the rapids, like liquid gold trapped underneath a mountain. Like the water, or the soil has dug itself so deep that it has softened the rough edges of the mountain or the cliffside, now a hole spills out rarest riches that the world has ever seen.

And he lets himself revel in this. A sort of victory. That the times spent rolling in rags, barely eating because there’s not enough food for everyone, marriages turning into shouting so loud that the floor shakes and sometimes the vase breaks when it hits the floor. That's all of this, it’s been leading up to this moment.

So when Nursey tries to finally get up from him, he pulls him back into the bed. They turn into a mess of blankets, shouting, giggling and too many kisses that turns into half-making out and half-laughing. Their lips are flushed, and Nursey buries himself into the crook of his shoulder, feeling his eyelashes on against his skin.

Dex feels him trace his knuckles, softer this time. The knuckles, the ridges, the bones. It’s like Nursey is climbing onto a mountain. Maybe onto a cliffside where the water carves out at the rock century by century. Ancient parts of him that have turned to something like metal finally falling off and tumbling into the water.

  
  
  
  
  


When Nursey looks at his phone after his finals analysing some shitty, pretentious works of an author it’s night. He gets a text from Dex.

_ Back then I thought that if we ever touched, that I would make an earthquake so strong that we would break like fine china.  _

Nursey replies with:

_ Doing poetry now Dex? Stealing my brand. _

Dex texts back:

_ I didn’t get A’s and B’s on English for nothing ;) _

  
  
  
  


And after that? They settle and slowly find barriers within each other. They find themselves always touching, always within a few inches away from each other incase if they need to touch for comfort or when they’re stressed. It’s how when they pile on blankets around them when movie night in the living room, always touching and revelling in the warmth. Or how after Bitty and Jack kissed live on the TV after Jack won, and Dex pulls Nursey into the frame of the camera and says  _ let me show you how it’s done  _ and he kisses him.

The four of them end up in the headlines for two weeks. Probably more of that.

Dex starts to think… he likes this. He  _ really  _ loves this. Seeing Nursey’s bed hair, a mess of coils and curls that brushes against the crook of Dex’s neck. He thinks, he can have this. And he’s happy. He’s content with the small moments in the morning, see Nursey sleeping so peacefully. 

Or how sometimes it’s the other way around. How Nursey looks at him like a slumbering, colossal thing. 

Dex just knows he’s going to love this man forever.

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
